


The Something Calling Me

by Rheality



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adding characters as I go, All Shippers Beware, Nemetons Are Our Friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:35:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28466172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rheality/pseuds/Rheality
Summary: The something in Stiles is getting clearer now, more like a voice than an indistinct idea. And all of the sudden, he somehow knows that he’s supposed to touch this stump. He knows that if he touches this stump, all his questions will be answered. That he need only touch the stump to see the truth and to find what all this has been about.Stiles reaches out a shaking hand, as anxious as he is confident, and places it on the thing he somehow knows is called a nemeton.-----------------------When Stiles discovers a six year comatose patient in the long-term care unit of Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, he ends up falling into a world of magic, mayhem and Mischief. And of course, Stiles being Stiles, he drags his family right along with him. Good thing he's got such a loving father and loyal friend or this would be one hell of a disaster.
Relationships: Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	The Something Calling Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to the Archive! Greetings from Rheality!
> 
> I saw a work posted on the Archive earlier this year that has since been deleted. :( However, I was so inspired that I decided to write one of my own based on the original work. The author has given me permission to include some of the original work itself, the storyline and other characters, and I'm so excited to take the challenge. A fair warning about my writing style, I'm not sure how often I will be posting, so I won't give anyone a schedule to hold me to. I would, however, love your feedback. Please keep comments kind and/or constructive, we want to bring light into the world and not add to its' toxicity. 
> 
> Peace and Blessings!

Stiles grips the steering wheel tightly. He is still too disoriented to tell where exactly he’s ended up. Memories lap at the edges of his mind, breaching the panic that is building in him like a rising wave.

Having his mind hijacked is probably the most traumatic thing Stiles has ever experienced.

He squeezes his eyes shut as he fights the rising panic. He is becoming aware of his breathing. It’s heavy. He’s starting to see spots. Nausea is pressing up his stomach into the back of his throat, threatening to overtake him. All the while, a shimmer of silver light is glowing, pulsing, rich and vibrant. It’s weaving itself securely around his arms, grounding him, drawing panic and fear away from him with every burst of energy. 

Eventually, Stiles' breathing evens out. It’s ragged, interspersed with greedy gulps of air. But air is coming into his lungs. His chest is tight and there are tears rushing down his cheeks. Heaving sobs tear themselves from his throat as he struggles to collect himself.

Memory loss is a sore spot for Stiles. He knows the statistics, knows that his current line of behavior could have some devastating consequences. That’s why he’s been searching so hard; searching for some other answer, any other answer than the one that keeps niggling at his thoughts. 

He remembers what it was like - when his mother lost herself to sickness. The rapid mood changes, being afraid of her. And that day… the one he’s never spoken of. It changed him forever.

Sobbing wracks his frame. Stiles isn’t sure how long he spends crying, weeping over the mother he lost. The one he still misses. The one he could never properly grieve. No matter how complicated things are with his dad, it can never touch what happened with his mother. The one he loved who he knew loved him. The one that tried to kill him.

The only thing that’s been keeping him sane since the dreams started is… he’s not really sure what it is. It’s a presence, a light pressure, comforting and sure - strong. Something in him is telling him that this isn’t some early onset of dementia. That he isn’t sick. 

After what seems like hours, Stiles’ tears are starting to dry up. Once he’s quieted to little hiccuping gasps, he becomes aware of his surroundings. His jeep is parked at the edge of a forest. He looks down the road in both directions and finds there are no lights lining the long stretch of asphalt. There are no mile markers and only one sign indicating a sharp turn in the road.The leftover pain and grief he feels is slowly being overtaken by confusion. 

Stiles knows when he set out, he didn’t intend on coming anywhere near the preserve. In fact, he’s not even sure he had a real destination in mind. But he also knows better than to disappear at 7:00 in the evening and head toward an unpopulated area with no streetlights and no civilization.

Stiles knows he should start Roscoe and head home. But something is telling him to stay. To see this through. What exactly, he isn’t so sure. 

The feeling hasn’t caused trouble for him just yet. Truthfully, he’s positive that this feeling is what helped him come back from the massive panic attack he just experienced. And now, it’s tugging him forward.

Stiles warily slips out of his jeep and inches towards the woods. He isn’t really prepared for this sort of excursion, which just so isn’t like him. He should be freaking out, but he isn’t. Each step toward the menacing looking forest in front of him is stronger than the last. And by the time he’s crossed over into the trees, he’s walking at a decent pace.

Stiles is still cautious, but he feels like he’s walking on a clear path. There’s a buzzing under his skin, a hum that has become familiar to him in the past few weeks. It gently pushes him forward.

Stiles' pace is increasing, slowly at first, little by little, until he’s running. And the faster he runs, the stronger he feels. He’s so focused on the running, on the getting there that he doesn’t observe the forest around him. 

The ground beneath his feet is brightening. The trees are shifting, changing color, pulsing a bright green. The bushes become an effervescent emerald green. He can clearly hear the sounds of the forest creatures around him. The chittering of excitable squirrels, the curious hoot of the owls, the snickering laugh of the fox who is running beside him. They all seem drawn to him. 

Even as all of this happens, Stiles’ head never turns. His eyes are sharp, focused. His vision is clearer than it’s ever been. He can see the minutest detail of the spider web hanging in the tree 50 feet away, but it’s only a subconscious observation. All his energy and strength are concentrated on his destination.

It feels like forever and a second all at once before he reaches a clearing. The canopy of trees is suddenly absent. The forest borders the clearing in a large circle, standing tall and proud. The forest dwellers that had followed Stiles on his determined sprint have stopped just outside of his line of sight. A dead silence has descended on the forest and Stiles’ attention is again drawn to the tugging sensation that led him to this place. 

He turns slowly, reverberating with energy. In the center of the clearing is an innocuous looking tree stump. The unearthly silence rings loudly in his ears. Stiles feels the sensation tug him forward. As he walks, the path on the forest floor that guided his way sparkles. The something Stiles doesn’t know what to call or how to explain offers a name for the path - ley line.

The closer he gets to the stump, the louder the silence rings. The something calls it syzergy. When Stiles reaches the stump, he barely registers that it reaches just above his knees before he’s kneeling. A new kind of energy is pulsing around him. 

The something in Stiles is getting clearer now, more like a voice than an indistinct idea. And all of the sudden, he somehow knows that he’s supposed to touch this stump. He knows that if he touches this stump, all his questions will be answered. That he need only touch the stump to see the truth and to find what all this has been about.

Stiles reaches out a shaking hand, as anxious as he is confident, and places it on the thing he somehow knows is called a nemeton.


End file.
